


Spock 'n' Roll

by swimmingwolf59



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bantering, Broken Bones, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Piercings, Rockstar AU, rockstar!Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingwolf59/pseuds/swimmingwolf59
Summary: McCoy can't seem to stop listening to famous rock star Spock's music, no matter how much he dislikes it. He has a lot to say about it, but that doesn't actually prepare him for when Spock himself walks into his clinic.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	Spock 'n' Roll

**Author's Note:**

> I recently remembered that Highly Illogical exists, the song Leonard Nimoy made, and I just…sir I respect you so much but why did you make this it’s so bad lol. Anyway, I listened to it again, this idea popped into my head, and my friend told me I should write it so I did. Hope you enjoy this silly thing! 
> 
> Title comes from the top Youtube comment on Highly Illogical, which you can listen to (if you really really want to lmao) [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjQVxLxXAC8)

McCoy first hears the song ‘Highly Illogical’ on a stupidly hot summer day in Georgia.

One of his nurses, Christine, had brought in a new album she’d bought at the farmers market on Saturday, and she’d insisted on listening to it over the clinic’s speakers while they worked. McCoy has nothing against music, and in fact thinks it’s usually quite relaxing for his patients, so he’d agreed. He also has a soft spot for Christine and can never say no to her, but that’s a different story.

He really starts to regret agreeing to it as soon as the first track begins playing over the speakers.

It’s just so… _bad_. The singer has a pretty nice voice, he supposes, a deep baritone, but the music sounds like it comes from the corniest side of the 60s. And he doesn’t mean the 2160s, he means the _1960s._ And the _lyrics_ – don’t even get him started on the lyrics. They make him equal parts angry and bordering on hysterical.

“Christine, you can’t actually enjoy listening to this!” he gripes, waving his hand in the general direction of the speakers. The patient whose broken wrist he’s treating groans, and he decides to take it as agreement.

She smiles at him, a devilish thing. “No, I bought it for the album cover. The singer’s…attractive. He’s Vulcan, you know. His name is Spock.”

McCoy snorts and rolls his eyes. “Just look at pictures of this ‘Spock’, then, don’t assault our ears with this horrible stuff.”

She laughs. “With a face as attractive as his I thought for sure he would be a good singer! And he is, but the music…”

“Horrible,” McCoy reiterates.

And yet they can’t seem to stop listening to it. Despite the horrendous quality of the stuff, it’s almost…charming, with how bad it is. And McCoy and Christine both are starting to become just a little bit infatuated with Spock’s voice, even if everything else leaves much to be desired. McCoy even finds himself one day almost asking Christine to show him a picture of Spock. Someone with a voice like that…he’d like to see. But he refrains before he can embarrass himself.

For God’s sake he’s an old country doctor, not a teenager. He doesn’t need to know what the man with the beautiful voice _looks_ like.

But he does spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about Spock. He wants to pick that brain of his, to learn about his outsider’s perspective that makes him think human society is so illogical. He wants to argue with him, to try and show him that the very things he finds illogical are what give humans strength.

He wants to stop thinking so intensely about some guy he’s never going to meet.

He tries to push Spock from his mind, but he’s never really gone. His music assaults him at essentially every turn, after all. But he gets on with his work, and, for a while, life continues on as it always has. 

It doesn’t last for long.

“You’ll literally never believe this,” Christine says when she comes in one morning. “Guess who’s stopping _here_ on tour?”

McCoy groans. “Oh, don’t tell me. Are you going to go see him?” 

“I haven’t decided yet.” She grins wryly. “I’m kind of curious to see how he plays live, but I don’t think I could last through the concert without laughing.”

“You may also be the only person in attendance,” McCoy says, rolling his eyes. “I mean who in this backwater town could _possibly_ be a fan of Spock?”

“We are,” Christine says and rolls her eyes at his glare. “Oh don’t pretend you don’t daydream about him, I’ve seen those dreamy looks on your face when his songs come on.”

“I-I do _not_!” he sputters. “I’m simply thinking about how I can break his harp, or _whatever the fuck it is_.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Doc,” Christine laughs. She heads into the backroom while McCoy grumbles to himself.

He does _not_ have dreamy looks when he thinks about Spock. He’s just curious, is all.

Several days pass, and McCoy doesn’t hear much more about Spock’s tour. Christine gets a new girlfriend and decides to devote that night to her instead of her curiosity. McCoy doesn’t even know what _day_ it’s supposed to be.

So frankly, he forgets all about it. So much so that when an unusual patient walks in the door, it doesn’t even occur to him who it could be.

The first thing he notices is the broken arm. He is a doctor, after all. The arm is twisted almost sideways with the horrifying angle it’s now resting at. It must hurt like a bitch, but the patient just calmly walks up to the counter.

The second thing he notices is the pointed ears.

McCoy runs a small clinic in the middle of rural Georgia. He’d signed up for Starfleet, but he hadn’t gotten very far due to his aviophobia, so he had decided to return home and set up a local business. There isn’t much for him in the small town he lives in, except that his daughter lives only an hour away by shuttlecar and he likes his nurses and fellow doctors. He’s happy enough.

But the thing about working in a small clinic in the middle of rural Georgia, and _not_ in Starfleet, is that he rarely gets _human_ patients, let alone alien ones.

This is maybe only the second time he’s even _seen_ a Vulcan.

Which is just damn great considering that now he has to treat one.

The third thing he notices is the leather jacket—do Vulcans usually wear leather jackets?—that he’ll have to unfortunately cut into to access the arm. The Vulcan also has several ear piercings, another surprise to McCoy. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard of Vulcans with piercings. But this one even has a small hoop earring through the pointy tip of one ear.

_Holy shit that’s adorable_. McCoy allows himself one second to stare at that hoop earring and blush before he forces himself to get back to his job.

“That looks like a pretty nasty break,” he says with a light grin. “Did you get into a motorcycle accident?”

The Vulcan simply raises an eyebrow. It could mean anything, but McCoy somehow _knows_ that eyebrow is insulting his intelligence. His grin falls down into a grimace. “Never mind. Just come back with me, I’ll get started on it right away.”

“Doctor,” the Vulcan says as he follows him into one of the private rooms. “There are some things I should explain to you about my physiology.”

McCoy freezes. Oh God, he would recognize that voice anywhere. He’s heard it pouring out of his speakers over and over for _months._ Sometimes he even dreams about that voice.

He turns with wide eyes to face his patient. “Holy hell, are you _Spock_?!”

Vulcans do not express emotions, but this one almost looks a little annoyed. “Yes. I am aware that my unique physiology is a fascinating case, however I did not realize that it was knowledge that would be widespread enough for you to recognize me.”

McCoy frowns at him. “What on Earth are you blabbering on about? I don’t know a damn thing about your physiology, I know you because I listen to your shitty music just about every goddamn day.”

It’s silent for a beat. Just long enough for McCoy to think, _Holy shit did I just say that?_

But then something almost like a smile twists Spock’s lips. “I see. I am primarily a Vulcan lyre player, but my producer believed that rock music would sell better on Earth, so I was paid to create such music. I too think it is complete and utter rubbish. This…outfit is also a result of my producer’s desired publicity. I do not usually wear leather or piercings.”

_But I like it_ , McCoy barely stops himself from saying. “Okay, but if you acknowledge that it’s shit, then why did you agree to do it at all? So what if you’re popular on Earth?”

“My mother is from Earth. I thought it would please her if my music gained popularity here, as well.”

“You’re half human?” McCoy asks, surprised yet again. He’s never heard of successful hybridization between Vulcans and humans, and yet here’s one standing in his little clinic. 

“Yes, that is in fact what I was going to inform you about.” Spock indicates his broken arm. “Vulcan bones are generally stronger and heal faster than that of a human. However, my bones are closer in composition to human bones, and therefore treatment should be similar to how you would treat a human patient.”

“…That’s actually helpful, thank you.” McCoy gestures for Spock to sit on the biobed. “Can’t say I ever treated a Vulcan, though I did read a bit about their physiology when I was in Starfleet Academy.”

“You were in Starfleet?” Spock asks as he gingerly sits down.

“Just the Academy, I never made it far enough to actually go into space.”

Spock nods. “I too considered joining Starfleet. However, I felt my music took precedence. I do have an interest in physics and astronomical science.”

“…Can’t say I know much about those. Obviously, I was going in as a doctor.” McCoy eyes Spock subtly. He must say, when he had occasionally dreamed about meeting the infamous Spock, he had certainly never pictured him like this. Everything about Spock has completely defied his expectations. Maybe he was just holding onto some weird prejudice against Vulcans, and it’s definitely a possibility, but he has a feeling it’s also just who Spock _is_. Half-Vulcan, half-human, it must have been difficult for him to fit in anywhere. But to McCoy, at least, it seems like he’s carved out a pretty good space for himself. A balanced mix of Vulcan and human traits. It certainly explains the leather jacket, the piercings, and the humor that he _swears_ he sees in Spock’s eyes.

He wonders if Spock knows that, if he knows how interesting and special it makes him.

Before he can get caught staring, McCoy picks up his tricorder and scans Spock’s arm. He really needs to get his damn head on straight – Spock’s here because his arm is fucking broken, not so McCoy can ogle him and wonder about him.

Talk about illogical.

“Lucky for you, it’s not as bad as it looks, just a closed fracture,” McCoy says and sets the tricorder down. “I’m going to give you something to reduce the swelling, and then I have to shift the bone back into place. I can regenerate most of the bone, but I find that leaving the bone to do the last of its healing itself makes it stronger in the long run. So after regeneration, I’ll just need to immobilize it and leave it to heal on its own.”

Spock nods. “Please proceed.”

McCoy gives him a hypo to reduce the swelling, and waits until he can visibly see that most of it has resided. Then he grabs Spock’s arm firmly. “This is going to hurt.”

“Pain is of the mind, Doctor.” Spock says, and then, apropos to nothing, “It was an amp.”

“What?” McCoy snaps Spock’s arm back into place and Spock doesn’t even flinch.

“An amp falling onto my arm earlier today is what caused my injury, not a motorcycle accident.”

“What, were you trying to show off your fancy Vulcan strength and carry it all by yourself?”

Spock sends him a strange look. “…Fascinating. While my people do not possess such arrogance, I was carrying the amp by myself when I tripped. How did you come at the correct conclusion?”

McCoy snorts. “Just a lucky guess.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and elapses into silence. McCoy follows his lead and focuses on his work, getting out his regenerator and carefully running it over and over the break. Once it’s mostly regenerated, he attaches an electronic rod to Spock’s arm to keep it in place until the bone can heal the rest of the way.

“Now listen, I don’t care _what_ you’re going to say about fast Vulcan healing,” McCoy grunts after he’s satisfied the arm is properly immobilized. “You need to actually _rest_ your arm for it to heal, and that means no lyre, no strenuous activity, and for God’s sake hire a roadie to carry your damn amp.”

Spock tests out his arm and, apparently satisfied, slowly lowers it to rest at his side. “Thank you, Doctor. It is fortunate that my tour ended here.”

McCoy snorts loudly. “You ended your tour in the middle of nowhere Georgia? _Really_?”

“My mother lives in Atlanta,” Spock says, and almost smiles.

“Alright, well then you better tell her that you need to _rest_ , or else your old country doctor will be coming after you.” 

Spock nods and shifts on the biobed. McCoy expects him to just stand and leave, but he remains sitting, just looking at him. “Doctor, I find you quite unusual.”

McCoy nearly laughs out loud at that. “I’ve definitely heard that before.”

“It was not intended as an insult.” Spock studies him, and his gaze feels heavy for some reason. McCoy shuffles his feet a little, uncomfortable. “I have met many fans before and during my tour, and many of them have treated me as if I was…well, a religious figure perhaps. You are the only fan I have met that has treated me as a normal person. You are also the only fan to insult my music to my face.”

“I’m not your _fan_ ,” McCoy snaps, still prickly from Christine’s same assertion. “And you _are_ a normal person. Just because you happen to be famous doesn’t mean you get any special treatment from me.”

“I prefer that, Doctor. Thank you.” Spock raises what appears to be an amused eyebrow. “I believe you said you listen to my music ‘every goddamn day’, and even if that is an exaggeration, you know my music well enough to recognize me by my voice. Does that not, by definition, make you my fan?”

“No, because I’m not having a _good time_ when I’m listening to it,” McCoy growls, flushing abruptly. He feels embarrassed, like he was caught doing something naughty.

Spock tilts his head a little. “Then I am curious – why do you listen to it?”

McCoy opens his mouth and closes it again. Spock’s really backed him into a corner here – he has _no idea_ why he keeps listening to it. Except maybe because he likes Spock’s voice, but damn if he’s going to _tell_ him that.

To worsen his embarrassment, Christine of course chooses that precise moment to begin playing Spock’s album over the speakers. Spock raises both of his eyebrows and McCoy, face bright red, explodes.

“Okay, well first of all, how outdated is your information about Earth? Is the only book that Vulcan has on Earth customs from the 1960s? No one on Earth uses money anymore, or rides around in automobiles.” McCoy pauses for a moment and snaps his fingers. “Or is that you can’t actually find anything about us modern humans that’s illogical, so you had to rely on old-fashioned information to even make your point? Because if that’s true, I think you damn well better reconsider your hypothesis.”

Spock’s eyebrows inch higher. “Doctor—”

“No, I’m not done! You’ve got another thing coming if you think we’re going to wreck space. Look, I know we’ve rather made a mess of things on our own planet, but we’re doing better, and we have diplomatic contacts with _hundreds_ of species, including yours, and—!”

“Doctor McCoy.”

“What?!” he barks.

Spock has an amused look on his face. “I believe I understand why you listen to my music, despite having an obvious distaste for it.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” McCoy spits.

Spock considers him for a moment and then stands from the biobed. Since McCoy had been standing right next to the bed, treating him, Spock is quite abruptly completely inside his personal space. McCoy’s mouth goes dry and his eyes flicker to that adorable earring.

_Dammit._

Spock leans down, and McCoy finds himself meeting him halfway.

The kiss is short, but meaningful. Spock’s lips are surprisingly soft, with how rigid of a line he keeps them in, but he applies a light force in just the right way that McCoy feels a little weak in the knees. He also smells intoxicatingly good – like cinnamon, or maybe nutmeg. 

“Forgive me if that was improper, Doctor,” Spock says, but he’s still close, close enough that McCoy can kiss him again if he wants to. And _of course_ he wants to kiss him again, so he does. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Spock,” McCoy says when they separate, voice gruff. “But I’m not exactly _proper_. And neither are you, for that matter.”

“I’m afraid I must agree with your assessment.” Spock steps away, hands behind his back. “It is not ‘proper’ for Vulcans to indulge in spontaneous flashes of emotion.”

McCoy grins, resting his hip against the biobed. He wonders if he’s allowed to brag that he made a Vulcan feel ‘flashes of emotion’. “It may not be Vulcan, but it certainly is human.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Indeed. Perhaps being part human has its benefits.”

They linger a bit longer, staring heatedly at each other. McCoy almost decides to just forego everything and crowd Spock up against the biobed so he can kiss him again, but then Spock takes another reluctant step back. “I’m afraid I am late in meeting with my mother. However, I would like to see you again sometime, and debate properly ‘my hypothesis’, as you put it.”

McCoy has to bite back his smile, and isn’t quite sure he succeeds. “I’d like that, too.”

Spock nods and reaches for the PADD McCoy had left on the table. He types on it quickly before handing it back to him. When McCoy looks down at it, a new communication number and contact is programmed into it.

“This is my personal contact information,” Spock says. “I would be…pleased if you would contact me.”

“You can count on that,” McCoy murmurs, a little stunned.

Spock nods, and without another word walks out of the clinic.

McCoy enters his office sometime later still a little dazed.

Christine looks up at him and frowns. “Is everything alright with the patient?”

“…Christine, you’ll literally never believe this.” McCoy has to sit down. He keeps staring at his PADD, which still has Spock’s contact information displayed. “That patient was _Spock_ , and he just gave me his personal contact information.”

It’s silent for a moment. And then Christine just about leaps over his desk. “What, what, _what?!_ Let me see! Tell me everything!!”

McCoy tells her the story of Spock’s injury, how McCoy had recognized him, and the subsequent conversation they’d had. He reluctantly tells her about the kiss, but only because she won’t stop bothering him about it.

When he mentions the second one, she practically _squeals_. “You have to contact him!!”

“I was planning on it,” he grumbles, and reaches for his PADD to start writing a message.

_This is Leonard…_ McCoy erases it. Too informal. And had he ever even _told_ Spock his first name?

_This is the doctor…_ He erases that too. Too anonymous.

_This is Doctor McCoy. You better be resting and not leaping all over the place like a chimpanzee._

Christine groans when she reads his message. “Doc, he’s a potential _partner_ , don’t talk to him like he’s your patient!”

“But he _is_ my patient!” McCoy argues back, but he’s interrupted by a small ding from his PADD. Christine crowds over his shoulder to read it with him.

_Doctor McCoy, I am pleased that you contacted me, although I find your analogy a bit baffling. I will assume this number you have contacted me with is appropriate for personal use, and so I would like to ask you on a date. I am remaining in Georgia for several days while I recover. Doctor’s orders._

“Oh my God he wrote back!!” Christine yells as McCoy just stares down at the message, mouth agape. “He _likes_ you, what did you say that made him like you so much?”

“I told him his music is shit.”

Christine practically falls over the desk laughing. “I always _knew_ you tossing out insults was your way of flirting.”

McCoy shrugs. “Hey, if they can’t fight back, they’re not worth my time.”

Another message comes through.

_Also, I wished to show you my usual Earth attire._

The attached image is of Spock standing in a lawn in front of a beautiful two-story brick home. He is wearing a blue and gray plaid sweater, of all goddamn things, and casual slacks. Most of his piercings are gone, except for that damn hoop earring. He is barefoot.

“Oh my God he’s a total loser,” McCoy bemoans, burying his burning face in his arms. “He’s so goddamn _cute_.”

“What was that, Doctor?” Christine teases, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“I said when I take him out on this date I can’t decide if I want the leather jacket getup or this sorry sack.” McCoy grins into his arms as he thinks about it, and then reaches for his PADD again.

_I’m looking forward to that date. Better make it two, since I can’t make up my mind which outfit of yours I prefer._

The reply comes quickly. _I see, you wish to sample both then. Logical._

Logical. He’s starting to understand that that song itself may be a joke, but the lyrics certainly aren’t. Either that or Spock’s just trying to rile him up.

McCoy would bet real, old-fashioned money on the latter.

_You better prepare yourself for the debate of your life._

This response is instantaneous. _I am looking forward to it._

Just then, ‘Highly Illogical’ starts playing over the speakers, and McCoy rolls his eyes skyward.

Somehow, he can’t seem to stop grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanoned in this au that spock is a bit more in touch with his human side, which was probably obvious. The kolinahr concept is just too angsty for me so I like writing spock finding peace for himself lol. Also you can pry my headcanon that spock is a plaid sweater type of guy from my cold dead hands 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Come chat with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaoru_of_hakone) !


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